


Into the Night

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Incest, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't have the power to say no, and deep down she doesn't think she wants to, not like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ September 19, 2009. 
> 
> This fic is in no way meant to offend or insult anyone. The thoughts and actions demonstrated by characters don't necessarily reflect the author's own beliefs.

  
He pounds into her without any concern for her body, but she is used to this. He comes for her in the night and she is always there to accept him, just as all his property is there to accept him. his hands smooth down her back, following the curve of her spine before resting just above where he’s entered into her. He thrusts up and in and it’s painful, but she doesn’t have the will or the power to stop him. She clenches her eyes shut, tries to summon up images of her little brother when he was young, before he’d witnessed what all nations must witness in their long lives. But thinking of that small child now somehow seems cruel, a desecration of his image, so she opens her eyes again to stare down at the sheets, watching the way they crinkle and shift under their conjoined weights.   
  
He never looks at her during this time, and she knows that she wouldn’t be able to look upon his face if he had her on her back. So she struggles to support her weight and his large bulk, her wrists aching and her knees bent as he enters her from behind, slamming into her and making her feel as if she were nothing more than some disgusting animal.   
  
One hand grips her hip and the other rolls around one of her breasts, rolling it in time to the roll of his hips. She’s sweating, shaking, and filled with revulsion over how she enjoys these encounters, even if, to him, she is nothing more than his property—when he is finished with her, he will move on to the next room, just as she knew he came from rooms before hers.   
  
He bends over her, drapes over her and it is almost suffocating. His hands press down against hers, covering her smaller hands. He leans his weight on them and it’s painful and she bites back the cry that almost squeezes past her constricting throat. The tears collect in her eyes but she quickly blinks them away; she doesn’t want him to see them, doesn’t want him to kiss them away. Her legs shake and she collapses, resting against her elbows as he continues to plow into her, setting a steady rhythm that she is meeting halfway, pushing back as he pushes forward until he is seated into her up to the hilt.   
  
“A-ah…” she cries out before she can bite back the sound, and she swallows the name she almost called. She clenches her eyes shut again, biting her lip as he places a cold kiss on the back of her neck, nosing her hair and inhaling her scent, draped with sweat and sex and desire. He is too much for her.   
  
She realizes that he’s waiting for her words, like he always is. He’s calm in these situations, betrays nothing on his face—and she’s glad that she doesn’t have to look up at that smiling face and those cold eyes like this. Like this, she can pretend that he loves her—and she knows that he can wait for as long as it takes her to say what he wants to hear.  
  
He rolls her breasts in his hands, rocks his hips against hers hard enough that she’s sure he’ll leave bruises on her, leave red marks just as he always did—what he always wanted, to mark what is his.   
  
“I-I’m…” she begins and she feels the way his thrusting slows down, moves more slowly, is less of an invasive force and more of a soft presence, rocking her to her core.   
  
“Yes?” he whispers in her ear and she hadn’t realized he was that close.   
  
“I belong to you,” she murmurs and hates how it is both a desire and a lie at once. She feels she has betrayed something of herself, every time she says it.  
  
But her brother swells with pride, with victory. His breath shifts against her ear and his lips graze down her jaw as he thrusts into her with a more gentle force now, though still commanding and restraining. Her body quivers, clenching around him inside of her.   
  
“Yes,” he whispers. “You do.”   
  
And she’s filled with warmth, with one last thrust from her brother, and she’s left panting on the bed as he pulls out of her. She can feel it moving in her, dripping out. He pulls away from her, spreads her legs so that he can run his tongue over her, and it sends her into a shouting fit, crying out words she won’t remember in a few moments and being unable to stop. He swipes at her with his tongue, doesn’t stop, and it rolls over the small bundle of nerves he’s neglected up until that moment and it’s too much. She reaches her zenith with a cry for him, her entire body seizing up and relaxing in the matter of seconds.   
  
And this entire time, she’s afraid to turn around and look at him, to kiss him as she wants to, to hold him close and reassure him that this isn’t how it should be—this isn’t what he wants or what anyone wants. Not really.   
  
But his hold on her is too commanding, and she knows that he no longer sees her as an equal, as a sister. She is just another piece of his union, another piece of his property. The marks on her stake his claim to her, and she is powerless to stop him.   
  
He pulls away from her, readjusts the clothing he never fully removes in these situations. She dares to look up at him, through the fringe of her disheveled hair. This time, she cannot stop the tears. She reaches out to him, touches his hand, and he allows this, allows her to draw him close to the edge of the bed.   
  
“I can’t stay,” he reminds, and watches with an almost childlike curiosity as she places a kiss across his knuckles, bruised from fights she didn’t want him to fight but knows he’ll continue to fight.   
  
“I know,” she says gently, and smiles without mirth. She dares to glance up at him again, but he’s not looking at her, merely at their joined hands.   
  
She lifts another hand, and covers his much larger one with both of hers. She bends down and kisses each of his fingertips. She clenches her eyes shut so he won’t see the tears.   
  
His free hand moves to drape a blanket over her naked form. She doesn’t move, doesn’t want to release her hold on his hand. He smoothes the fabric over her bare shoulders, makes it so it covers her form and keeps her warm.   
  
“I can’t stay,” he says again and he pulls his hand away with a small amount of hesitation she hadn’t been expecting.   
  
“Please be safe,” she tells him, and doesn’t mind when his rough thumbs press against her cheeks and wipe away the tears spilling from her eyes.   
  
The smile he gives her is almost genuine. He kisses her forehead and says nothing as he leaves her in darkness.


End file.
